


fall into me (and I'll catch you)

by if_the_sun_sets_burn_it



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, I Don't Even Know, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Sexual Content, aren't you guys proud lol, do i tag for sex, there i tagged it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:36:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/if_the_sun_sets_burn_it/pseuds/if_the_sun_sets_burn_it
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>They’ve just finished performing and Scott feels like there’s fire burning beneath his skin, feels like his whole body is on fire, and the only thing that can stop him from burning down to the ground is Isaac </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or</p><p>au where they're rockstars with their heads so far up their asses they can't see what's right in front of them</p>
            </blockquote>





	fall into me (and I'll catch you)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://ohgodsdrarry.tumblr.com/post/53217141032/ohmygod-au-where-isaac-is-the-drummer-in-a-rock) post I wrote and [mclahinskis](http://mclahinskis.tumblr.com), [austingabe](http://austingabe.tumblr.com), [orwecouldnot](http://orwecouldnot.tumblr.com), and [writingcalmsthemind](http://writingcalmsthemind.tumblr.com) ~~pressuring~~ helping me to write this stupid thing lol thanks for the support, guys :)

They fall into each other like rocks fall into water (they fall heavily, creating repercussions that neither want to think about, sinking quickly to the bottom of an ocean full of possibilities too great to navigate alone; they sink to the bottom and clutch at each other, trying not to drown). 

It starts out as nothing more than a way to stay uncomplicated, because complications aren’t something rock stars can indulge in (but complications aren't something that Scott's ever really had a knack for avoiding; he’s never really been good at making them simple, either. Sometimes Scott thinks life throws complications his way just to fuck with him). It’s not like there’s room for complication on this tour, anyway, there’s just no room for fuck-ups or,well,  _problems_ when you’re touring the world with your band. Two other dudes, and a badass chick who could probably kill a person using nothing but a stiletto takes up a whole lot of room as it is, so there's kind of no room for any elephants that could arise—actually, now that he thinks about it, there’s no room for anything,  _ever_. Like. There’s  _literally_  no room for anything. There's zero privacy, and personal space is a luxury that's almost nonexistant—not unaffordable, of course, but who wants personal space, anyway, when there's three incredibly attractive people always rubbing up against you?  One would think that being on the biggest world tour out there would grant four rock stars a bigger bus, but nope. Lydia, their manager, says it would be pointless considering they’re only in there for five or six hours at most, and it’s not like they don’t sleep in expensive hotels with comfortable mattresses and all the space in the world, anyway.

(So, yeah, Isaac and Scott fall into each other a bit like rocks falling into water, or—actually, they fall into each other a bit like buildings scheduled for demolition because they both forsaw it happening, they both knew that they'd be falling into each other with a crash, imploding and releasing ash and dust into the air in the form of moans and whispers, their flimsy infrastructures getting ripped apart one by one as they kept pretending it wasn't real. They fall into each other like gravity’s at work; they trip, scream a bit, and fall _hard_.)

At first it’s like a game of gay chicken—Scott leaning into Isaac more closely than warranted for a whispered inquiry about where they’re going tonight; Isaac letting his hands linger too long on Scott’s hips when trying to move around him to get somewhere, crotch brushing against Scott’s ass in a way that seems too purposeful to be played off as accidental; Scott hugging Isaac for too long and letting his lips press faintly into Isaac’s collarbones, grinning when he feels Isaac shiver beneath his lips; Isaac taking a shower and walking into Scott's room wearing nothing but a towel that rides low on his hips; Scott walking into Isaac’s room wearing nothing but one of Isaac’s stolen t-shirts, making sure that it fits him big enough for it to ‘accidentally’ keep slipping off his shoulders and exposing his collarbones every time he leans forward; and on one memorable occasion, an actual game of gay chicken—and the first one who squawks is Scott.

In all fairness, Scott’s pretty buzzed (okay, so, maybe he’s completely fucking wasted, but. Whatever) and, yeah, Isaac smells pretty fucking good right now (he smells a bit like strawberries and something earthy and wonderful and pure), and, wow, his lips look soft ( _so_ soft, and red, and so fucking  _kissable)_  and his eyes look so bright beneath the colored-lights of the club that outline his profile every couple of seconds (bright enough to blind Scott, maybe), and everything about him looks like it tastes amazing (and okay, maybe Scott gets a boner every time Isaac looks at him from beneath his eyelashes and leans over to whisper in his ear, but, c’mon! He’s only human!), so he leans in the rest of the way and kisses Isaac’s grinning lips, and Isaac doesn’t even miss a beat before he kisses back, so it’s all good, except—

Except Scott knows what happens when band members get into it with each other. He tried to do the whole dating thing with Allison, so he knows what happens. He knows one of them gets heartbroken, and the other gets guilt piled on like the weight of the world is on their shoulders, piling on until they both crumble into ashes, and broken promises, and one of them ends up writing lyrics that make up a whole album that gets them a worldwide tour and—

Okay so even if it  _ends_  badly, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad  _thing_ , but still. Isaac’s different, and Scott doesn’t know how to deal with different just yet, because  _different_ sounds like  _complicated_ to him, and, well. Everyone knows how Scott feels about complications.

Scott doesn’t want complicated, because he’s already  _done_ complicated—he dated the human form of complicated, okay? He doesn’t want to date another Allison. She was everything he thought he wanted (god, she was. She was so pretty, so wonderful, so funny, so  _perfect),_ and then suddenly she wasn’t. She was good to him, yeah, and she knew how to fuck like nobody’s business (she had these  _hands_ that were just—wow, and her _tongue—_ yeah, she was pretty good), but it got to be too much. The fame had gotten to her, she wasn’t warm anymore, she was cold; she wasn’t funny, she was sarcastic and rude; she wasn’t playfully jealous, she was almost possessive. She’d suddenly become everything that Scott didn’t want to deal with instead of everything Scott wanted. And it's like—okay, yeah, he knows Isaac isn’t like that, could  _never_  belike that, but he prefers to not find out the hard way.

He lets himself kiss Isaac, anyway, lets Isaac kiss him back, lets his hand sneak into Isaac’s impossibly tight jeans, lets Isaac sink his teeth into his neck and leave behind hickeys that’ll take  _days_ to heal—all with the promise to not let it get complicated.

(He thinks that if they keep it strictly physical, if the only thing they give each other is blowjobs, and handjobs, and quickies here and there, and not anything else, nothing emotional, then maybe it could work. Maybe it’ll stay uncomplicated.)

(Spoilers: It doesn’t.)

+

They’ve just finished performing and Scott feels like there’s fire burning beneath his skin, feels like his whole body is on fire, and the only thing that can stop him from burning down to the ground is Isaac (because he's like an oasis in the middle of a scorching desert, and Scott’s _dying_ of thirst, he’s positively  _parched_ ). He walks quickly down the backstage hallways, hoping he isn’t leaving black scorch marks where he steps, hoping no one sees how he’s burning, how he’s turning into nothing but ashes.

He finds Isaac hanging out in one of the dressing rooms, sprawled out on a long leather couch, beer bottle pressed to his lips, drinking it down like he’s got a thirst impossible to quench (and, yeah, Scott knows the feeling).  He looks around the room and finds more than one beer bottle lying empty and forgotten on the floor. (He ignores the part of his mind that sees the metaphor in the empty beer bottles, silencing the way it seems to say ‘ _isn’t that the way he makes you feel every time he leaves after fucking you? Like you’ve been thrown away, left to rot amongst the rubble? Doesn’t he leave you feeling empty?’_ )

“ _Even when you’re drunk and half-asleep, I think I love you,”_ he wants to say.

“You drink beer like it’s water. Why is that?” Scott asks instead, leaning against the doorjamb. Isaac blinks slowly up at him, taking in the way he stands in the doorway like a shadow (‘ _just like a shadow,’_ Isaac thinks ‘ _because I can never seem to touch him even when I am.’)_ smiling lazily before replying.

“Why do you smoke joints like they’re air, and you're suffocating?” He lets the question hang in the air, let’s Scott look at him unimpressed, raising a pierced eyebrow. He trails his eyes down Scott’s tattooed arms, liking the way the black ink looks against his tanned skin.

He tilts his head to the side and smirks when he sees Scott shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze, grinning when he sees the telltale flush rising on Scott’s cheeks.

“Because I want to,” he finally answers. “Because I’d rather be perpetually buzzed than be sober and have to deal with all of this,” he gestures vaguely with his hands “all of the crowds, all of the  _people_  and the way they expect so much all the time. I can’t be sober and deal with all of this shit, no privacy, no truth, so much greed, too much confusion,” his hand gestures in Scott’s direction “and then there’s—um,” his hand falls limply onto his chest as he bites his lip. (Scott thinks the heavily implied  _‘and then there’s you’_ hangs too heavy in the air, so he walks forward to try and disperse the molecules that make Isaac’s words feel like something solid and tangible and _real_.)

Isaac watches him through hooded eyes, chewing on his bottom lip as he sets the beer aside. He opens his mouth to say something (and Scott’s sure it’s going to be about him, it’s going to be ‘no’ this time, it’s going to be ‘get out I don’t want to do this anymore’), but Scott’s there, his mouth on Isaac’s, stopping him from saying the truth that neither of them wants to hear right now.

(And isn’t that just irony at its best? Scott doesn’t like liars, he doesn’t like the truth to be hidden; he's never been one for shoving the truth into a tiny little box and sealing the lid with lies so it doesn’t escape, but that’s exactly what he’s been doing—the  _only_  thing he’s been doing lately, in fact.)

 

Isaac pulls back for a moment, searching Scott’s eyes for something ( _stop looking, stop looking, you’re going to find something real—and you aren’t going to like it, baby),_ and leans back in to kiss him. He murmurs, “Shut the door. And lock it,” against Scott’s lips, and Scott does as he says, because what else is there to do? He locks the door and comes back to Isaac, shedding his jacket and shirt as he walks back, feeling like he’s floating away even though the only thing tethering him to reality is lying beneath him on an old battered leather couch, heart beating beneath his steady hands, pupils dilating with lust.

Isaac runs his hands over Scott’s hips, sitting up to press kisses along his throat. Scott starts rocking down against Isaac's hips, trying to get closer, but trying not to let himself get in too deep this time. Isaac is still trailing kisses up Scott's neck, and he doesn't know what to do with that, because it feels too much like something else—too sweet to be considered part of fucking him, so he pushes himself off Isaac, pretending it's so he can rid himself of the rest of his clothes, nodding at Isaac to do the same.

Done divesting himself of his clothes, Isaac sits back against the couch, watching Scott with a small, drunken smile. He thinks Scott looks amazing tonight, with the way his muscles move beneath his skin as he removes his jeans, the way the compass on the back of Scott’s neck stands out—and wait a second, is that? There’s a new tattoo on Scott’s left shoulder blade, words that Isaac had written for Scott a long time ago (“ _Let’s run free like wolves; And howl at the moon; let’s soak in our lovers’ blood; and burn ourselves with the fire; in our beating hearts”)._

 _  
_Isaac thinks he's going to throw up.

He makes sure his face is blank when Scott turns around, leaning back a bit when Scott steps forward to straddle his lap, winking and giving him a filthy grin before placing his hands on Scott’s hips and grinding up against him, their cocks rubbing against each other deliciously. Scott moans, grinding his naked hips against Isaac’s, tangling his fingers in Isaac’s curls, tugging on them softly before leaning down to kiss him (dirty, sloppy,  _slow_ ). Isaac breaks the kiss with a gasp, lips trailing down Scott's neck, sucking bruises into his skin, thinking about how hot Scott feels beneath him.

Isaac’s whispering lewd things hotly into his ear (“ _Don’t you want to see what I can do with my tongue, Scott? Don't you want to find out if I can make you come just by tongue-fucking you?” “Do you want me to bend you over this couch and fuck you until you scream, sweetheart?” "Don't come until I do." "Let me hear you scream my name, Scotty." “How far do you think I’d have to bend you before you **break**?”_ ), and all Scott can do is let out broken exhales as Isaac wraps his hand around both their cocks, pumping slowly, teasingly.

Isaac’s words rake through Scott’s mind (leaving behind fissures in Scott’s heart that he doesn’t really know how to mend, couldn’t possibly even  _begin_ to repair) as he rakes his nails down Scott’s back, leaving behind red welts that won’t fade for the next couple of days (and Scott thinks that they’re a metaphor for Isaac, because Isaac is an open wound that won’t heal, he’s a scar that won’t fade, a tattoo that Scott hadn’t meant to ink on his skin, he’s an anchor that’s been tied around Scott’s ankles, dragging him down until he hits rock bottom.)

" _Nngh_ —don't stop—fuck, Isaac. I—ah—I need you to—" _  
_

"Shh, don't worry, babe. I—ah. I wasn't planning on stopping," he moans as he lays Scott out on the couch, hand still jerking Scott. Scott can't even look at him, because then it would be over—Scott would be _gone._ But, then Isaac's thumb rubs over the head of Scott's cock, and Scott's vision goes white as he comes, his fingers digging into Isaac's shoulders. He feels wetness on his cheeks, and he realizes he's sobbing out Isaac's name. Isaac's hips move frantically against Scott's thigh, trying to get enough friction to get himself off. Scott grabs Isaac's ass, forcing him closer, and snaps his hips up, knowing what Isaac needs. 

(Scott makes sure Isaac is lost in the pleasure before he lets his face crumple for just a moment, Isaac’s words playing in his head like a broken record.)

( _How far do you think I’d have to bend you before you **break**?)_

Isaac lets out a broken, high-pitched whine, and comes all over Scott's thighs.

They both just lie entangled together on the beat-up leather couch, come drying on their skin, their broken hearts beating in-sync. Scott's still trying to catch his breath, and Isaac is playing idly with Scott’s hair, softly singing one of the songs he’d written for Scott, pretending it had been written for someone else (“ _the only kind of complicated I would like to get; is the type of complication that lands me in your bed; and I can’t quite get you to get out of my head; but I think I might compromise if I can get in you instead”)_

(Scott thinks Isaac is the exact type of complication he was trying to avoid.)

(But maybe he’s the type of complication that Scott needs.)

+

Scott likes watching Isaac practice.

And, yeah, maybe it's because Isaac usually wears a tank top, and Scott loves how his watercolor tattoo of a clock exploding while the numbers turn into birds and fly away peeks through the low back of the fabric, but maybe it's also because he likes the way the veins in Isaac’s arms bulge every time he hits the drums with too much enthusiasm; maybe he likes the way that Isaac loses himself in the music, loses himself in the beating of the drums. (And, yeah, okay. So maybe Scott thinks that sometimes he does the same when he sings; sometimes  _he_  loses himself and who he is for a moment, but Isaac always brings him back, always tugs him down to earth with a sweet smile and a wink).

(Scott often wonders if he ever does the same for Isaac).

He grins as Isaac plays and bobs his head along to the beat, thinking about the other things that Isaac immerses himself in so completely that he’s almost lost to the world—like that one time that they stopped by a tiny little town to get gas, and it only consisted of a diner, a bookstore, a gas station, and some apartments, but Isaac spent hours in the tiny little bookstore buying up all the poetry books, losing himself in the sonnets and stanzas and lines upon lines that described simultaneously everything and nothing at all.

He thinks about all the times Isaac loses himself when he writes in his tiny black book that no one’s allowed to look in—except for that one time he let Scott read a poem or two when they'd both gotten high in a tiny hotel room, breathing out smoke into each others’ mouths, Isaac giggling before murmuring a question against Scott’s lips.

“ _Hey, Scott?_ _You wanna read the things I write 'bout you when m'drunk?”_

 He had let Scott murmur them into his skin afterward, too. (“ _I_ _f I could lose myself in your skin; I’d never ask for directions again; because I could map out your body; and connect the stars in your eyes into constellations of wonder,” whispered into his neck. “Stop it, Scott,” Isaac had groaned, hips stuttering against Scott. “I’d hold the universe in my hands and let it burn through me; if I could only hold the stars in your eyes for a bit; just to feel the slow burn; just to feel myself turn to ashes beneath your hands,” murmured into his stomach. “Scott—“ “Shut up, Isaac. Just. Let me,” he’d said, looking up at Isaac from between his thighs. Let me pretend this is love for a little while, please)_.

The only other time Isaac seems to lose himself is when he’s beneath Scott’s body, chest heaving, eyes glazed with desire, cheeks flushed with exertion (and maybe just a little bit of embarrassment, because the things that Scott whispers into his ear while they fuck are downright  _indecent_ ). He thinks about how Isaac looks beneath him, sweat-slicked skin sliding against his in a way that makes him want to stay like that forever, shaking hands raking across the sheets trying to get a grip, trying to get away from Scott but also trying to get closer, back arching beautifully, hips moving frantically, mouth open in a silent scream as he comes.)

He doesn’t realize Isaac’s done drumming until he’s being shoved up against a wall, only barely catching Isaac’s carefree grin before he presses his lips to Scott’s, licking into his mouth, kissing him slowly. They pull apart and Isaac gives him a look that says ‘ _let’s get out of here,’_ so they do. They reach Isaac’s room, and tumble onto his bed unceremoniously, scrabbling to get the other’s clothes off.

And Scott’s fucked Isaac many times, in many different places (on his bed, on Isaac’s bed, up against the wall, in the kitchen, on the couch, in the recording studio, up against a giant window in his high-rise flat while the city kept bustling with nightlife beneath them, and on one memorable occasion, on Isaac’s drum chair), but maybe—maybe  _just_  fucking Isaac isn’t enough anymore.

Maybe he wants things to get a little bit more complicated, maybe he wants Isaac to be complicated with him, maybe he wants to stop being Scott and Isaac and try being  _ScottandIsaac,_ maybe he wants to curl himself around Isaac and twist himself into one big complicated mess that’s impossible to disentangle or make sense of.

Maybe Scott  _wants._

(And maybe that’s a little terrifying.)

+

Scott thinks he might be more than a little bit tipsy from the alcohol he’s been attempting to drown himself in since Allison had whispered something about Isaac going back to the hotel with some girl last night into his ear while they were out dancing. He’s angry, and a bit jealous, and he’s really _not_ okay, because this wasn’t supposed to be a thing. Jealousy isn’t supposed to be a thing that happens between—well, between fuck buddies.

(But, fuck, it  _is_  a thing. It’s a very real thing. It’s a thing that is searing through Scott’s veins and threatening to rip him apart, threatening to shred right through his sanity and leave behind nothing but a madman.)

He doesn’t mean to stumble into Isaac’s room at ass o’clock in the morning, high as a fucking kite, the pungent odor of weed clinging to his clothes like he’s been trying to cling to whatever tiny shred of dignity he still has left, and okay, maybe he’s not thinking clearly, but ever since he’d felt the way Isaac’s body fit beneath his, thinking clearly hasn’t exactly been at the top of his priority list.

( _Clearly_ , staying uncomplicated hasn’t been at the top of that list either.)

He sees Isaac sprawled out on his stomach, lying on top of the covers, writing in his tiny black book, wearing nothing but thick-framed, black glasses and an oversized t-shirt with the word  _heartbreaker_ emblazoned on the front in white letters. Scott laughs mirthlessly, because  _of course_ Isaac has a shirt that says heartbreaker, of course he does.

 Isaac’s been a heartbreaker since day one.

(Isaac with his curly hair that always smells like strawberries—like what the fuck, he doesn’t even use any products with strawberries in them! How does that even work? The world may never know—and, _god,_ Isaac has this really sweet smile he reserves only for Scott, and it's like—soft and warm and  _heartbreaking_  (but then Isaac also has his filthy smile, and his panty-dropper smile, and his goofy smile, and his genuine smile—god, his smile in  _general_ ). Oh, god, and the feel of his smooth hands roaming across the expanse of Scott's skin positively _wrecks_ him (and, yeah, Scott will fight anyone who argues with him on this. Isaac has the softest hands he’s ever felt—which is crazy, all things considered. Aren’t drummers supposed to have really rough hands?). Isaac with his stupid little quirks—like the way he puts ketchup on everything he eats (“ _Bananas, Isaac? Seriously?” “What? It’s good!”)_ , or the way he says Scott’s name when he’s just woken up (his voice all rough and scratchy, lips bruised and puffy from the night before), or the way he pretends to hate rap but Scott’s caught him rapping the lyrics to ‘Best I Ever Had’ on more than one occasion), and his stupid fucking tattoos that  _mean_ something to him (words like ‘down to one last breath’ wrapping around his left wrist like a bracelet, ‘let’s pretend this is the end’ across his other wrist, the word ‘unbreakable’ beneath his collarbone, and the words ‘I swear to you there’s good’ with a little arrow beneath it on his left arm, right beneath the elbow crease). Isaac and the stupid way he handles Scott in the morning, after he’s just woken up like—like he’s something breakable, like he’s something to be  _careful_ with. Isaac and his stupid, stupid self.)

(Oh yeah, Isaac’s definitely been a heartbreaker since day one.)

Isaac looks up and smiles his 'Scott' smile, open and genuine, taking off his glasses and putting them away along with his little black book of poetry, focusing all his attention on him, and Scott just—Scott just fucking  _crumbles._ He feels his anger boil to the surface, because  _who does this guy think he is?_ Who does Isaac think he is, getting under Scott’s skin like this, leaving behind scars in the shape of his smile, leaving behind promises that he won’t ever keep?

Scott resolves to let himself have this one more time.

He tugs his shirt off before crawling into bed with his little heartbreaker, forcing Isaac onto his back, letting him move back to sit up against the headboard, planting himself between Isaac’s open legs, hands skimming up Isaac’s pale thighs, making note of the fact that Isaac isn’t even wearing underwear  _ohmygod._

(Scott thanks whatever god made it possible for Stiles to have knocked out in Scott’s shared room with Allison instead of trekking up to his shared room with Isaac, because this is not a thing he wants to share with anyone. This is something he wants to keep just for himself; he wants to pretend this is his for a little while.)

The t-shirt bunches up around Isaac’s thighs, barely covering anything. Scott trails kisses up Isaac’s throat, sucking bruises into his skin as he goes. Isaac tilts his head to the side, baring his throat for Scott. He huffs out a laugh, his fingernails dragging across Scott's scalp, fingers tugging at his hair, “Scott, what’s—“ but Scott doesn’t want to hear it right now, so he silences him with his lips, hoping that if he fucks Isaac this last time, he’ll get him out of his system.

“Scott, I—,” Isaac gasps, breaking the kiss, burying his hands in Scott’s hair, tugging him closer as his hand wraps around Isaac’s dick, pumping tortuously slow. He mouths at Isaac’s throat, hand still moving on his cock, thumb massaging the head.

 “Do you have—?” Scott murmurs into Isaac’s skin, Isaac nodding furiously in response, “Lube in the—in the drawer,” he manages to say.

“Do you want to get it, or should I?” Scott asks, pulling away to look at Isaac, raising an eyebrow. Isaac makes a frustrated noise and leans over as best he can to rummage around inside the little bedside table, finding the lube and condoms quickly. Isaac lets them fall haphazardly beside Scott on the bed, pulling Scott close once he does. Scott tugs at Isaac’s shirt, throwing it to the side when he finally gets it off, moving down Isaac’s body, fingers digging cruelly into Isaac’s hips.

He drags Isaac down the bed with him, until Isaac’s lying completely on his back, legs bent at the knees, thighs spread apart just for Scott. (Scott wants to capture this moment—just for a second, he wants to capture it and put it in a glass jar so he can look at it whenever he wants, because fuck, Isaac is perfect like this; he's perfect because Scott can pretend Isaac's his when he’s like this.) Scott makes his way down Isaac’s body, leaving a trail of purple bite-marks in wake of his lips, sucking bruises into Isaac’s thighs before running his tongue along the curve of Isaac’s cock, sucking the head into his mouth, tonguing at the slit. Isaac throws his head back against one of the pillows, letting out a breathless moan.

“Fuck—Scott. Just. Don’t tease me,” Isaac says weakly.  (And Scott kind of laughs manically inside his head because—don’t tease him, don’t tease  _him?_ Is that a joke?) He pulls off of Isaac and grabs the tube that lays forgotten at his side, and flicks the cap open, spreading the lube liberally on his fingers. Isaac watches him beneath hooded eyes, biting his lip, and Scott moves his hand to circle his fingertip around Isaac’s entrance, pressing in and not stopping until he’s in to the knuckle. He hears Isaac’s breath hitch, and he smirks to himself, because he knows how much Isaac loves his fingers (knows how Isaac would let Scott finger-fuck him all day if they had the time), and he moves his finger slowly, adding another one when he thinks Isaac is ready. All Isaac can do is clench his fists into the sheets helplessly, as Scott fingers him open (and the thing is, Scott would do anything— _anything_ to keep Isaac like this, back arched, moonlight streaming in through the blinds, outlining Isaac’s profile, mouth open, panting heavily into the cool night air).

“Scott—Scott just—Scott, fuck me. Fuck—I’m ready enough, I—fuck,” Isaac stutters out, hips moving against Scott’s fingers, trying to get them deeper. Scott just shushes him, twisting his fingers, making sure Isaac is loose enough for him. “Come on, Scott—ah!” Isaac gasps as Scott crooks his fingers against his prostate, massaging the little bundle of nerves he finds. Isaac all but shouts, his hips arching up off the bed, fingers tugging on Scott's hair, muttering obscenities, urging Scott to just get on with it. So Scott complies, removing his fingers and placing his hands on Isaac’s thighs, hiking them up to bracket his hips. In one fluid motion, he flips them over so Isaac is left straddling him, eyes wide and bemused, “Scott—?” he starts. Scott scoots back until his back is resting against the wooden headboard, eyes roving up to look up at Isaac, a lazy smirk twisting his lips.

He tilts his head forward, letting his lips barely touch Isaac's before murmuring, “Shut up and ride me, pretty boy."

Isaac’s confused expression clears, his lips quirking up into a filthy grin. He nods once, before reaching down to unzip Scott’s jeans, tugging them down and throwing them across the room. He straddles Scott once again, grabbing the lube and spreading some on his hands, reaching behind him to spread some liberally onto Scott’s cock, jerking him twice before he’s guiding him in, sinking slowly down onto him and Scott just—fuck. Scott’s really screwed isn’t he? (Figuratively  _and_  literally.) Scott’s really screwed, because Isaac is so fucking beautiful— _fuck,_ he’s so beautiful with his hands digging into Scott’s shoulders, eyes clenched shut, mouth open in a silent scream, sweat beading on his forehead, drops of perspiration rolling slowly down his skin, and that makes him so fucking complicated, that makes this so fucking complicated, and Scott—

Well. Scott doesn’t know how to un-complicate it just yet.

Isaac lets out a breath and slowly lifts himself up, letting out small whine when he grinds back down onto Scott. He starts moving in earnest, hips moving against Scott’s like a professional, and Scott’s thrusting up every time Isaac grinds down. Isaac keeps letting out small ‘ _ah’s_ every time Scott circles his hips a certain way, and Scott murmurs, “How deep am I, sweetheart? Do you feel me, yet?"

Scott groans into Isaac's neck when his hips stutter for a second, "I’m going to fuck you so hard you’re going to feel me tomorrow morning.” Isaac takes Scott’s hand and moves them out across the expanse of his stomach, pressing Scott's fingers into his hips, moaning out, “You’re—oh—you’re so. So fucking deep. _God._ ”

Isaac is rocking against him erratically, and Scott's hands are gripping Isaac's hips hard enough to bruise as he guides him down onto his cock, and it's creating this wonderful friction, but it isn't  _enough._ It isn't enough for Isaac, either, because he keeps muttering, "more, harder—come on, sweetheart.  _Harder._ Fuck me like you _mean it."  
_

So Scott gives up on the idea of Isaac riding him, rolls them so he’s on top again, and he fucks Isaac like he owns him. He brings Isaac’s legs to wrap around his waist, thrusting into Isaac with somewhat frantic (not to mention  _sloppy_ ) movements, thrusting hard enough for the headboard to keep hitting the wall.

Isaac’s whining beneath him in a way that Scott’s never stopped to fully appreciate, mouthing desperately at whatever skin he can reach. His fingers are digging into Scott’s back, sure to leave behind more welts that won’t heal for days (Scott’s almost a hundred percent positive that he feels blood dribbling down his back, actually). Isaac moans, his hips moving feverishly against Scott’s (“ _So close, so close—come on, Scott”),_ and Scott slows down a bit, makes his thrusts deeper, because he knows that’s what Isaac wants; it's what he _needs_ , and as soon as he does, Isaac positively  _keens_ , digging his heels into Scott’s ass in an attempt to get him deeper.Scott moves to jerk Isaac off in time with his thrusts, murmuring the word, "mine," into his ear, refusing to let his heart soar when all Isaac can do is nod furiously and moan out the word, "yours," Scott grinding down quicker when he does.

He circles his hips and presses in deep, and Isaac lets out a shout, his fingers scrabbling across the expanse of Scott's back trying to find something to hold on to, something to keep him from drowning in the pleasure. Scott presses kisses into Isaac's neck, hand moving quickly over Isaac's cock, making a loose fist and letting Isaac fuck up into it. His thrusts grow erratic and he muffles his groans into Isaac’s shoulder, biting down on the juncture between Isaac’s shoulder and neck. It proves to be too much for Isaac, and the hand not entangled in Scott’s hair shoots out to grasp helplessly at the bed sheets. Isaac moans Scott’s name as he comes (and Scott tries desperately not to memorize the way his name sounds on Isaac’s tongue, the way it tastes on Isaac’s lips, but he does anyway).

Scott comes with Isaac’s name on his lips, and it doesn’t taste as sweet as it used to.

+

He sneaks out around four in the morning, leaving Isaac sated and sleeping, alone in his bed, and he feels empty.

( _God_ , he feels so empty. It feels like someone’s reached inside his ribcage and dug out his insides, leaving behind nothing but a hollowed shell, leaving behind nothing but ashes and Isaac.)

(He wonders if Isaac carved out his heart while he carved his name into Scott’s bones.)

He leaves Isaac asleep in his bed at four in the morning, and tries not to cry. He stumbles into his room and grabs a bottle of vodka from the mini-fridge, trying desperately not to think about how the vodka burning his throat is nothing compared to the way Scott’s mind is burning, the way Isaac’s singed himself into every one of Scott’s thoughts.

(He tries not to think of the way Isaac’s left behind scorch-marks on his skin in the shape of his fingertips.)

(He thinks about it anyway.)

+

_“I’d call you a homewrecker if I had any home left; but unfortunately it’s you who made this fucking mess; so I’ll just call you a heartbreaker instead; yeah, I’ll just call you a heartbreaker instead”_

Scott’s on fire, still burning from the way Isaac touched him earlier, but he hasn’t had time to gather his thoughts, hasn’t had time to process. They’re playing at one of the biggest venues they’ve ever played at, and it’s insane. The crowd is singing along, and their voices are loud enough to drown out Scott’s thoughts for a little while. He feels euphoric, feels like he could do anything; feels like nothing could possibly bring him down from this.

Naturally, life comes and kicks him right in the balls, just to prove him wrong.

After they finish performing, Scott goes backstage and stumbles into his dressing room, not expecting to find Stiles sprawled out on the black sofa, limbs flying everywhere as he tries to right himself when he sees Scott come in.

“Scott! My man!” he exclaims, a grin lighting up his face. Scott stands awkwardly by the doorway, wondering what the fuck is going on, because, okay yeah Stiles is his best friend, but he never ever comes to Scott after a show unless he has something important to talk about. (Well, maybe important is too strong a word, considering the last time he’d wanted to talk it had been about how beautiful Lydia Martin looked when she was about to murder Stiles’ hopes and dreams.)

“Stiles, what are you doing in my dressing room?” Scott sighs, trying not get impatient (but patience is a really hard thing to maintain when dealing with Stiles Stillinski, okay?)

Stiles does this weird thing with his face where he tries to look offended at the mere  _suggestion_ that the reason he’s here is anything but innocent, but his expression ends up looking more sheepish than anything.

“What—? Can’t I come visit my friend to congratulate him on an awesome performance—which by the way, I totally rocked my guitar solo, thanks. Is that not allowed anymore? What has the world come to? Wake up, America! Wake up and fix this!” Scott looks at him unimpressed, and he shrugs, muttering, “It was worth a shot.”

“Why are you  _really_ here, Stiles? Cut the bullshit,” Scott sighs, running his hand through his hair before taking his jacket off and throwing it into a corner of the room, settling himself into the armchair across from Stiles.

“Listen, buddy. I’m not judging you or anything, but this thing you’ve got going on with drummer boy—it’s gotta stop.”

“What—? Stiles, nothing is going on between Isaac and I? We're just friends? Like really close friends. That occasionally fuck? Sometimes. By accident? Okay so maybe not by accident, I mean it's not like we both get naked and I accidentally trip and land on his dick or anything—but there's nothing going on okay? Isaac and I are strictly amigos. Best bros. Bro-chachos—“ Scott rambles on, getting redder by the second, and eventually Stiles puts him out of his misery by interrupting him.

“—you know how when you’re little you play pretend games with your friends, creating little elaborate worlds, with a bunch of different stories, and it’s really  _really_  awesome?”

Scott stops talking and looks at Stiles, bewildered, “Um, yeah? But what’s that got to—“

“I’m guessing you were really bad at those games, Scott. Like. Really, terribly bad. Because you can’t lie for shit. It’s kind of pathetic to watch, actually. It makes me want to, like, die from second-hand embarrassment or something,  _ohmygod._ Please stop that. Immediately. I really don’t want to die from second-hand Scott embarrassment feelings today,” Stiles says, leaning back against the couch, dragging his hands down his face.

“You’re a fucking weirdo, Stiles,” he laughs, then sobers quickly, “Besides, there’s really nothing going on between Isaac and me. It’s just—ah. It's just sex,” Scott mutters, looking away, hoping Stiles believes him or just drops the subject. (He really doesn’t want to think about Isaac right now, he’s been priding himself on doing such a good job of pointedly doing the complete opposite, in fact.)

“Again with the lying! What did I just say, man? I should’ve made you promise. That always works on you,” Stiles shakes his head, “Look, I don’t care if you’re fucking Isaac,” he pauses, a look of horror crossing his features for a split second at the thought before he shivers and continues, “that’s—great! For you, I mean. One of us should be getting laid on the daily, anyway! But if it starts to affect the band, or worse,  _you,_  it makes me care. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Scott nods.

“Great!” He says cheerfully, “Good talk, good talk! We should do this more often. So does drummer boy know that you’re, like, in love with him or something?” he asks, settling into the couch, smirking goofily (is that even possible? How the hell does Stiles do that?).

Scott swallows noisily and clears his throat before letting out a strained, “Um, I don’t? Stiles, this isn’t—That’s not. We don’t. Love each other, that is.”

Stiles sits up quickly and shoots him a disbelieving stare, looking at him like he’s crazy, which, um, excuse you? Scott isn’t crazy, thank you very much.

“Scott, are you fucking stupid? Did you get thrown at a wall as a child? Did your parents let a piano plunge out of the sky and land on you? Did they let you fall out of the stupid tree, and hit every branch on the way down?” he says, eyeing Scott incredulously, waving his hands around like he’s trying to prove a point.

“You and Isaac are so in love with each other it’s like Beyoncé-Jay Z type love, it’s like Obama-First Lady type love, it’s like the Iron Man-Captain America type love, man! You guys are like fucking Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, okay—it’s really sickening actually. Totally disgusting.” He makes a face, “but, dude, you have to know he, like, actually loves you, right?”

“Stiles. Get out, oh my god,” Scott groans, hiding his face in his hands. Really, this isn’t what he wants to deal with right now.

“Scott—“

“Out. Now.”

“Fine!” He stands and throws his hands up, pointing a finger at Scott, “But rest assured, Scott McCall, there will come a day when  _we_ ” another hand motion, “will talk about this. And it will be glorious!” he puts his fist in the air, and pauses, reevaluating, “For me, at least. Maybe. If I can get this not-dying-from-second-hand-embarrassment thing down. And hopefully you,” another finger pointing at Scott, “will be less stupid by then. Or maybe the word I should use is more willing,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes before clapping Scott on the shoulder.

He turns to leave, but stops at the last second, “I’m only bugging you about it because I care, dude,” he says quietly.

“Yeah, Stiles. I know,” he waves him off, hoping for Stiles to just  _go away already._

“Great! My yearly quota for one overly emotional talk about _feelings_ has been filled,” he says brightly, backing out the doorway, tossing a “later, Scott,” over his shoulder.

(And, yeah, Scott thinks he’s pretty much fucked, right now.)

( _What a time to be alive_ , he thinks. What a time, indeed.)

+

 It’s kind of hard to see clearly when the lines are so blurred.

Isaac doesn’t know when that happened; he only knows that it did. It happened and now he wants to fix it. (Then again, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he wants to blur the lines, forget the boundaries, and just—just  _be_ , for a little while. Maybe  _that’s_ what he wants.)

(What he gets, however, is something a little different.)

He hopes Scott is alone in their shared hotel room, because attempting to have a conversation about their feelings is not a thing he wants to do in front of others. (It’s actually a thing he doesn’t want to do at all, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Scott has made him  _very_ desperate.)

He slowly makes his way inside, taking care to not make any noise, only to find Scott sitting with his back to the door, a guitar in his hands, fingers strumming softly at the strings, humming out words that sound too familiar.

“ _If I could lose myself in your skin; I’d never ask for directions again; because I could map out your body; and connect the stars in your eyes into constellations of wonderment,”_ his voice drives a stake through Isaac’s heart, because it sounds like it’s breaking, like the words that Isaac had written in his little black book of secrets weigh too heavy on his tongue. Scott is the only one privy to his words, and Isaac thinks he likes the way Scott took them and strung his verses together into music.

“ _I’d like to hold you in my trembling hands; and hope the words I whisper are enough to make you understand; that if I lose the way you look tonight; It would be a tragic end,”_ he sings softly, voice crashing over Isaac like a tidal wave, drowning out his frantic heartbeat. Isaac’s having trouble breathing with his corrupted lungs, having trouble looking at Scott because,  _god,_ he’s like the sun, isn’t he? He’s like Isaac’s personal sun, shining so brightly he almost hurts to look at; he’s so brilliant Isaac’s afraid he’ll get burned if he stares for to long (except it’s a little late for that, isn’t it? Isaac’s been burning for a while now, hasn’t he?).

Isaac watches Scott sigh and set aside his guitar.

When Scott catches Isaac staring at him from the doorway, his face flushes and he stutters out an awkward, “Uh, hey, Isaac.”

And Isaac thinks about pretending he hadn’t just witnessed Scott’s heart breaking, but the thing is—god, Isaac’s so  _done_ pretending. He’s so done pretending he doesn’t see what he’s doing to Scott, pretending he doesn’t see what Scott’s doing to him—he’s done pretending he doesn’t see what they’re doing to each other; he’s so done pretending that Scott hasn’t gotten so far deep under his skin that he’s like, ninety-nine percent sure there’s a little Scott-shaped hole where his heart used to be, nestled right beneath his ribs.

“Scott—“ he doesn’t mean for his voice to be so soft, but it is, and Scott notices, flushing even darker than before.

“Um, so you did—you heard that. I’m, um. I’m really sorry? For using your lyrics without telling you. I just. I dunno. I liked those words, and I had a melody stuck in my head, and I couldn’t help myself, and I was thinking maybe I could play it for you later, to see if you liked it? And I just thought—I don’t know what I thought, and— _please_ feel free to stop me from rambling before I seriously embarrass myself, _ohmygod,”_ he stumbles around his words, mouth feeling like it’s full of cotton, like he’s saying all the wrong things.

Isaac just stares at him, feeling like he's been punched in the gut, because, fuck, Scott is so beautiful, even when he's tripping over himself. Isaac's heart feels like it's about to burst and he can't contain himself anymore.

“Scott, I love you,” he blurts out, kind of regretting his timing, but not regretting his words even as he hopes to hell that maybe Scott didn’t hear him, so that maybe he won’t have to go through the rejection. He wants to close his eyes and forget anything happened, forget that any of this is real.

And Isaac feels like he’s breathing underwater, like Scott’s silence is flooding his senses, like he’s drowning in it, the tension too thick to navigate. He thinks there’s no way he’s going to survive this—

But Scott is there, his own personal sunshine, drying up the fear that’s soaked through Isaac’s rationality, pressing a warm kiss against Isaac's ice-cold lips. And, fuck, Isaac’s never felt so confused in his life, but he reaches out and wraps his arms around Scott’s shoulders, dragging him closer, hoping that this won’t ever stop.

Scott pulls back far enough to mumble quietly against Isaac’s lips, “God, how don’t you know, already? Isaac," he breathes in sharply, “Isaac, I love you, too.” And Isaac’s heart stops beating for just a second before it’s starting up again, beating so loudly he's sure Scott can hear it too. Scott laughs nervously against Isaac’s skin, trailing kisses down his jaw.

Isaac just drags his fingers through Scott’s hair and presses his lips to Scott’s in a kiss that he hopes conveys what he's feeling. If he lets himself bask in the warmth of Scott's smile, and lets Scott’s sunshine flood through his rattling ribcage, he hopes that this time he won’t come back burned to bits.

(Isaac lets Scott burn the feel of his fingertips into his memory, and prays that Scott won’t ever cut the lifeline he’s thrown at him, because if he does, Isaac thinks he’s a goner.)

(But then again, they've both been goners for each other since they first met.)

(They don't care, anymore.)

+

It’s the last concert of their tour, and Scott thinks about how far they’ve come.

His hands are gripping the microphone like he’s afraid it’ll all disappear if he lets go, if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough, and he’s singing out the lyrics to the song he’d written for Isaac (“ _We weren’t lovers until I burned my fingers into your memory; Until the way you screamed my name became a melody; until you learned you were my lifeline; and now we’re falling into each other like stones; we’re falling heavily; and it seems you've settled in my bones, so love me steadily”)._ He looks back at Isaac while he sings, and the way that Isaac’s grinning at him is infectious enough to bring a smile to Scott’s lips. He winks, and turns to look out into the crowd, thinking if this is what burning feels like, he’ll burn down the whole world.

(This time, though, he’ll set the world on fire with Isaac by his side.)

(He looks back at Isaac's carefree smile and thinks,  _yeah, I’d set fire to everything if it meant keeping this_.)

+

They fall into each other like rocks fall into water (they fall heavily, creating repercussions that neither want to think about, sinking quickly to the bottom of an ocean full of possibilities too great to navigate alone; they sink to the bottom and clutch at each other, trying not to drown), but they lift each other up by breathing out their complications with their corrupted lungs, breathing in the safety net they’ve made for themselves, their cracked lips letting out whispers that sound like promises instead of secrets, murmuring to each other that it's okay to burn, it's okay to keep this.

It's okay to fall into each other like they have.

(They’re still falling.)

+

(“ _Scott, I love you.”)_

_(“God, how don’t you know, already? Isaac, I love you, too”)_

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always welcome! :) xx
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